


quatre mains

by aestheticisms (R_Vienna)



Category: Death Parade (Anime)
Genre: Dancing, Gen, Open to Interpretation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-03
Updated: 2015-03-03
Packaged: 2018-03-16 03:18:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3472487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/R_Vienna/pseuds/aestheticisms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Do you dance, Decim?"<br/>"Only if necessary."</p>
<p>Decim, and the black-haired woman.</p>
            </blockquote>





	quatre mains

“Do you dance, Decim?”

“Only if necessary.”

The woman sighs, and throws the smallest pout in the bartender’s general direction. They’re wiping a glass with a white towel, meticulous and precise. They put the glass back on the counter, and turn towards the woman, she’s reclining on a chaise, legs crossed at the knee, book open on their lap, index finger pressed against the page, ready to flip to the next.

“Is there a particular reason you ask?” They walk through the door that separated the bar from the rest of the lobby, and find a seat on a stool. They raise a white brow, the one that’s not covered by their shaggy hair, and the woman sighs again. A little louder, this time.

“None at all.”

“Is that so.”

“Jeez! Of course there’s a reason.”

She sits up, and swings her legs around until her feet hit the floor, smooths out her black mini skirt. The book fell to the floor during the change in position, so the woman picks it back up and puts it on a glass table. Decim watches, with that same, blank expression, and it’s a little irritating, but, she’ll work with what she can get. Any response, any reaction, it was good. It was fine.

She didn’t mind it, honest. They reacted in their own way. She knew their tells, small, little things, but they were there. They _existed_ , the way Decim tapped their fingers against the marble countertop, the way their glassy glaze flickered _just_ so. There wasn’t really anything left to decipher, Decim always spoke plainly, directly, they did not mince words—unless the conversation involved the duties of an arbiter.

“If that is the case, what is it?”

Finally, the woman stands up and Decim looks at her, waiting for an answer. She makes even strides towards them, and sticks out her hand. Her silver bracelet falls back, gets stuck around her forearm. They look at it like it’s going to bite. Or worse, ask of them something.

“I used to dance, before.”

“Really.”

The woman sulks. “Your deadpan cuts me to the core, Decim.”

Decim shrugs, raises their hands in defense, before getting up and accepting her offered hand. The woman’s right hand, it is small and fits awkwardly in their own grip. They guide her hand to their shoulder, and they take her left with their right. She gives them a pointed look.

“Does this displease you?”

“Your hand should be on my hip.”

Decim sighs. She likes the sound.

Their hand finds her hip. The woman tries not to be smug.

It is a stunning failure.

"I’m assuming you were versed in waltz?” They take the lead, pull the woman into an easy glide, a three by four that moves them from the decorated bar to the wide open spaces of Quindecim’s hall.  

“Ballet, actually. maybe.” She smiles sheepishly when they twirl her, once, twice, and once more, and they step in time with a song that only resonates within their heads. “My feet look awful. These heels can’t possibly be good for me.”

Decim dips her, and her hair cascades down her back, fans out, but they keep her steady, suspended in midair.

“In that case, maybe we should take it slow.”

“Slower than a waltz? Should we take baby steps?”

The woman snorts incredulously. Decim pulls her close, and she readjusts, wraps her arms around their neck, and she feels them stiffen. A step to the left, then to the right. Their arms hover around her waist, and she raises her eyebrows, they get lost in her thick, dark bangs, and Decim finds the image a little laughable. Their hands finally reach her lower back, she is warm to the touch, and they can't help but brush their fingertips down her spine. Softly, cautiously--warily. 

“I’m only concerned for your health.” They say.

“Of course you are.” She snips.

They untangle their limbs when the song ends, and they make their way back to the bar. They make her a martini for the black haired woman, and she sips it daintily. Whiskey for themselves.

“What was the point of that, if you don’t mind the inquiry.” Decim leans over the counter, elbows buried into the wood surface, pristine, collared shirt sleeve rolled up past their bony wrists. The woman flashes a conspirator’s grin.

“I was bored.”

“Charming.”

“At least say it with a little more enthusiasm, won’t you?”

“ _Charming_.”

“Now you’re just making fun of me.”

Decim rolls their eyes.

“I’m not capable of such jest.”  

**Author's Note:**

> it can be romantic or it can not be romantic it's more of a short little vignette about them dancing. bc i love them when they are dancing. also, agender decim!!!!!!! is canon!!!! fight me bruh


End file.
